


Beyond the Twilight Sea

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, Superwho - Fandom, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Anal Sex, Angst, Children of Earth Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sex in Abandoned Buildings, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Jack Harkness and Castiel parted on bitter terms several years ago, and haven't spoken since. Now, with Dean Winchester gone rogue and time running out, Castiel turns to Jack in desperation. But help isn't all he's after. It might be too late for them - too much time passed, too many old wounds. But amid the rumble of a quiet Kansas railroad town, a pair of immortal men find just enough time for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Twilight Sea

Captain Jack Harkness walked into _The Twilight Sea_ with the voice of an angel in his memory. The dance hall enveloped him in aquatic light; spangles of deep velvet blue broke over him as he cut through the crowd. Nubile young bodies surrounded him, soaked in denim and sequins, pearls and shock-red satin. They were set pieces to him. Anonymous human wreckage, passed as he dove towards his goal.

'I need you,' Castiel had said, when Jack unfolded the cell phone in his pocket. The words rang louder than the music. It was something the angel never said. Needing Jack too much was a risk. Needing Jack too much made him evasive; he'd pass through Castiel's metaphorical fingers like smoke that way. Jack had ditched his current work cold to come running, but he could already feel himself losing substance, ready to fade into the stream of cooler air rushing towards the exit.

But Castiel needed him. He said so. And the same thing that made him shy away, drew him on.

Jack washed up against the bar, all purple glass and blue neon, and there was Castiel. His head was down, gaze steady on the half inch of liquid glowing almost green in a rocks glass at his wrist.

"Hello, Jack," he said. His rusty voice cut through the constant thrum of bass from the stage behind them. He looked up, at the mirror behind the bottles. Between the ruby necks of Campari and sloe gin, their eyes met.

Castiel's eyelids were dark with yellowing bruises. His cheek and lip were scabbed. That was wrong - Castiel never had bruises long enough to look half healed. Jack leaned on his elbows beside him. They looked at one another in the glass, not touching.

"Hello, Hot Wings," Jack said, unsmiling, "Thanks for the invitation. It's been a while."

Castiel's gaze was the first to drop. "Too long," he said, sighed, and reached for his glass. "Jack, I'm sorry I—"

"Angel's Kiss," Jack said to the bartender, jerking Castiel out of his apology.

"What?" Castiel stuttered, off-kilter at the interruption.

It amused Jack that a being so ancient could still look so absurdly young. Jack looked at him, long and hungry, and shook his head. "Just thinking back. Don't apologize, Castiel. What's a few decades to us?" He meant it, really, but it was still a bit satisfying to see the angel flinch.

"Jack—"

"No," Jack said, firmer, instantly regretting his decision. Castiel maneuvered an iceberg of guilt - any accusation could bring it bobbing to the surface. Jack's attention shifted to the bartender again, and the heavy cream sliding into a small glass on the rail. It lay on top of the darker liquor beneath, light and soft as a fantasy. "Everything all right? I'd wager this isn't a social call."

Castiel's eyes caught the light as they flashed up. For an instant, Jack could see the hunger in him too, reaching out and matching Jack's desire. "I need your help. Sam and I… we've lost Dean."

Assuming this wasn't an issue GPS could fix, Jack waited. The bartender skewered a ruby red cherry, and rested it across the lip of the glass like a pig on a spit. She shifted the Angel's Kiss gently to a cocktail napkin and slid it towards him.

"He's under the influence of an ancient curse," Castiel continued, "we've tried to remove it, and exhausted all avenues save one. But he's consumed by its violence—"

"Consumed by what's violence?"

"The Mark," Castiel clarified, "the curse." He looked down again. Jack saw the angry red welts on Castiel's hands; the bruises and scabs at his knuckles. Without thinking, Jack reached out, brushing his fingertips over the wounds. Castiel lingered a moment, allowing the touch. "Sam can't find him. I can't find him. I'm not sure where to start."

"Everywhere?" Jack suggested with a shrug, "Isn't that what you do?" The tormented look Castiel tossed him made him wish he hadn't been so flip.

"Things have changed, since we last met," Castiel sighed, "I can't do that anymore."

The bruises, the wounds took on a new and awful significance. Fear, sudden and hot, seared sea nettle coils across Jack's neck. "Are you—?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

Castiel shook his head. He pulled away from Jack's hand. "Not quite," Castiel tossed back the last of his drink, "I'll explain later. But I need your help now."

"To find Dean?" Jack shrugged, "shouldn't be too hard."

"And contain him," Castiel added, "until we can finish what we started."

Once again, Jack traced with his eyes the purple, yellowing marks on Castiel's jaw. "You're telling me you can't? I thought that old drunk of yours had a panic room in his basement like a bear trap."

Castiel faltered and went still, hand frozen midway to ordering a second drink. His eyes cut to Jack. "Things have changed," he repeated, sharper than before, "If I could handle this on my own, I wouldn't have called."

Understanding dawned. Guilt made Jack angry. "Sure," he said, "I mean, I figured it'd have to be dire." He reached for his cherry, bleeding sweet, red juice on his fingers as he popped it into his mouth. The second drink arrived at Castiel's elbow. Too busy glaring daggers, Castiel didn't notice it. Jack reached down for his Angel's Kiss. He took a sip around the cherry in his back teeth.

"If you think I haven't wanted you, all this time—" Castiel's voice was low, almost subsonic, like the rumble of a train. He pressed into Jack's space and the heat between them doubled.

Jack closed his eyes, sure of what he wanted even before Castiel's nearness brought a hum of power over his skin and a whiff of thunderstorm and tequila. He took stock: one rogue Winchester, one lamed angel, one nebulous 'curse,' and a limited supply of tech two states away, under an Iowa ethanol plant.

And Castiel could still make his stomach drop with a few well-placed words.

Jack put down his drink. "So what do you want now?" he challenged, "Dean Winchester's in danger out there."

"Stop," Castiel's breath washed over Jack, and the rest of him followed, molding hip to hip with Jack as the lights rippled over them again. "Don't say anymore." His cheek rubbed Jack's jaw, and it was hard to remember that this separation had been Castiel's choice.

"What do you want, Castiel?" Jack murmured into his hair. His arms came around the angel's shoulders, and Jack felt warm hands steal under his coat.

"I'm so sorry, Jack."

"What do you want?"

Jack felt, more than heard Castiel admit it. He felt the soft uncoiling, as the broad-shouldered body in his arms melted just a little closer. The music softened, toppling into Frank Sinatra's gentle croon. Searching hands curled into fists at his back. Memories urged Jack to hold on tight. "Oh, Castiel," he sighed.

"You," Castiel spoke into his collar, "Jack, I'm lost. I need - I want you."

Jack steered them out of the bar without another word. Swaying in the watery light, dancers filled the empty space behind them.

 

* * *

 

The unspoken things Jack wanted burned a bright aura around them in the parking lot. The music inside the bar followed them, filtering into the front seat as they collapsed together. Castiel slid across the vinyl to meet him, unhesitating, as if the secure sound of closing doors had unlocked something inside. He turned onto one hip and looped his arm around Jack's neck, chest to shoulder. Jack let the weight of the angel pull him down, into hungry kisses that spoke volumes of want and yes and right fucking now. He let himself dive in, let the heat of it seep across his skin and close over his head. His fingers were light on Castiel's bruises. It was good. It was like Jack remembered - Castiel had settled into himself, but he was still just as responsive. Just as uncontrolled. And god, was that sexy.

Castiel abruptly pulled back. Jack could feel the other's breath, panting humid on his mouth. It was still interesting that Castiel breathed - and breathed warm. So very warm.

"Don't let me use you," Castiel warned. His expression blended into the cool blue shadow between streetlights.

"Because making out is such a drudge," Jack laughed.

"Jack."

On Castiel's lips, his name was laced with guilt. Jack's smile faded. "Is that what you're doing? Using me?"

"I need your help," Castiel said, turning his face away, "I'm willing to use you for that."

So it was a transaction? Sex to secure Jack's expertise? He squinted. That couldn't be right - he knew what he'd seen inside the club. Castiel could occasionally run a decent con, but the artless way he poured passion into Jack's hands — the angel had never been able to fake that. "You've got my help," he said seriously, "whether you come home with me or not."

"That's not what I mean," Castiel snapped, frustration in his voice and the tight lines of his hand on Jack's neck. He was silent a moment more. Jack waited, letting Castiel have the time he needed to arrange his thoughts. He breathed his tension into the firefly-studded dark; released it on the breeze. Whatever happened tonight, it was just one night. One in a billion lifetimes' worth.

"I can't promise you anything. But I want to go home with you tonight," Castiel murmured, voice gone to mostly air as his thumb stroked Jack's temple, "which - as I understand these things - is only half an agreement."

Jack took another deep breath. He looked past Castiel, into the warm lights of the club. Then he turned, towards the softness of Castiel's mouth and the heat of his hands. He pulled the angel to him, over him, until Castiel straddled his hips.

Castiel's ass landed squarely on the jeep's horn.

The sound bleated across the parking lot, startling them both. Castiel jerked up, hips shoved against Jack's stomach, and banged the back of his head on the roof.

To Jack's utter shock, the angel started to laugh. He joined in a beat later, and the tension between them melted.

"Maybe we should take this somewhere else," Castiel suggested. The gentle curve of humor in his voice couldn't mask the heat. It was heady to feel this wanted. In a flash, Jack clamped his arm around Castiel's waist and reached out with the other for the passenger side headrest. He towed them into the middle of the bench seat, out of the narrow space behind the steering wheel.

"Not quite yet," Jack whispered, and reached for the buttons of Castiel's shirt. The rough cotton scraped a stark counterpoint to the soft skin underneath. His fingers claimed the hot slice of exposed flesh; suddenly thirsty, happy to drown in this heat. Here too, there were bruises. Some of them were still dark, blood pooled in the pores like violet freckles. He smoothed his hand over the flat of Castiel's stomach, sucked at his neck, breathed him in.

Castiel took Jack's desire and fed it back to him in waves. His eyes closed, back arched, kisses burning Jack like hot water on cold hands. Castiel kissed to make up the lost years, or to burn the absence away. Their hands consumed one another. Castiel panted his name into Jack's ear, heady and humid, when Jack peeled back Castiel's slacks to take the weight of his shaft. The angel melted all over again, spreading open, sagging into Jack's lap. He cried Jack's name again, over and over in a steady rhythm that matched the stroking palm. His fingernails bit into Jack's neck.

Oh, this Jack remembered. This, a dozen times, just as hungry and lonely. Two drowning men.

"That's right," Jack grunted, the thin nip of pain riding a swell of deep arousal, "you hang on."

Castiel's head rose slowly, and his eyes met Jack's in the rectangle of street light illuminating the front seat. Jack held his gaze, bluer than the lights of the bar, filled with pain and need and something warm that Jack tried not to touch. Castiel's hands came around Jack's face, their lips met and opened again. Jack brushed his tongue inside, slow and soft, and Castiel moaned down his throat. The angel kept right on going, hips chugging away into the friction of Jack's palm until the kisses turned to bites and hisses and deep, pushing grunts from the chest.

Jack murmured the angel's name in his ear like a prayer, and kissed him through the climax. He reveled in the full-body tremor as Castiel released. Thick jism coated Jack's fingers, suddenly cold as night air hit the wetness of it. When Jack could be sure Castiel was looking, he lifted his fingers to his own mouth, and sucked away the seed. Castiel froze in his lap, watching Jack lick at his fingertips. An almost animal growl tore out of him. He reached down, touching Jack where arousal ridged his trousers taut. Pleasure swelled in a spill of fresh heat. Jack's hips jumped to Castiel's hand.

"Wait, let me get you home," Jack asked softly.

After a pause, Castiel's hands skated up Jack's stomach. "Yes," he breathed into Jack's mouth, followed by a searching kiss. Suddenly Castiel just wasn't nude enough for Jack's taste. He wanted warm bare skin on his, and an angel of the Lord rolling over him like a thunderstorm.

"I can eliminate my refractory period," Castiel reassured him, as if he could taste Jack's thoughts. The angel tugged up his slacks and buckled himself into the passenger seat.

All Jack could do was laugh, and throw the jeep into drive.

 

* * *

 

'Home' was an abandoned warehouse in Kansas, butting up against a busy branch of the railroad. It was a dark brick behemoth from the Thirties, with fire escapes so overbuilt you could still park a Buick on the landings. Jack left the jeep in a parking garage a block away, and led Castiel over the train tracks. The crossing began to flash as they started their ascent, and by the time they'd reached Jack's third-story window, a coal train trundled under their feet. The vibrations rattled the entire building, and covered the rusty screech of the window as Jack forced it open to slip inside. Castiel followed, concern clear on his face as he ducked through.

"You're staying here?" Castiel asked. His tone somehow encompassed the entire building and found it wanting. Jack reeled the window closed, pressing down the latch behind Castiel.

"It suits me," Jack shrugged.

"You don't have a team?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Jack remembered the last time they'd shared a bed. He hadn't had a team then either, just a lot of rubble and fresh loss. Maybe that was what drove Castiel off. Was his brokenness somehow harder to handle than Dean Winchester's? He led Castiel around a bank of file cabinets, where a thick bedroll and a camp lantern waited for him. Jack knelt to turn it on. The cool white LED flicked to life under his fingers, illuminating his sparse belongings: a pair of laptops, a duffel bag, a camp stove. Jack looked up into Castiel's gutted expression.

"You're alone," Castiel observed.

"I consult," Jack replied, "in DC. Expanding the network."

"So you do have a team."

"No," Jack was quick to correct. Maybe a little too quick. He got to his feet and reached for Castiel's hands, towing him in. Their fingers laced easily.

"Jack—"

Not answering, Jack swayed, urging Castiel's body to do the same. Their hips came together, riding the echo of Sinatra, still in their blood from _The Twilight Sea_. Castiel's fingers tightened on Jack's hand, and feathered through the hair at his nape. He relaxed then, apparently willing to let it go. Jack's mouth found Castiel's throat with practiced ease, and kisses followed after. Swaying to silent memories, they undressed each other. Castiel pressed Jack into the blankets at last, bringing a strange kind of freedom with the weight of him.

Every time Castiel said Jack's name, it was a prayer, a soft little incantation to seal the magic in tighter. Jack didn't want to be 'fixed,' didn't want peace or release or even numbness - but he wanted to lay it all aside for now. And here was the angel, needing him and wanting him at the same time, spilling Jack's name as hot breath on his skin while he asked to be inside Jack, right now.

They were comfort, known entities, gentle hands on one another's familiar grief. Jack tossed him the lube and a condom from the head of the bedroll, sat up on a whim, and rolled Castiel down into the covers instead.

He straddled Castiel's hips, slicked up the angel's fingers and guided them into him. It had been a little while. Jack's eyes rolled back as pleasure rippled through him. Castiel's eyes locked on him, watching him with hunger even more obvious than the angel's erection. It pushed hot against Jack's inner thigh, and he took advantage. With the slow pace of his partner Jack stroked a palmful of slick down Castiel's shaft, rolled the condom down its length. He added another slick stroke of lube for good measure.

Castiel withdrew, leaving Jack empty. He pushed himself up onto his hands, then sat forward, scratching his fingernails lightly down Jack's back as they kissed. "When you're ready," Castiel murmured, the gasp in his voice betraying him. Jack grinned, reached back, and guided Castiel's tip inside him. He felt the pressure, thin at first and widening, stretching him open, but he was ready for it. "I've got this," Jack commanded, "lay back and relax, Hot Wings." And for once, Castiel did as he was told. He rolled back down, just missing the pillow, and bent his knees up, cradling Jack in his hips. Jack pushed down without waiting, hissing in pleasure at the rush of being filled. They rode together like that for a few minutes, Jack cresting the thrust of Castiel's hips, hands braced on the angel's knees, losing himself in the slick pressure and slide of skin.

Then he found himself on his back again, yelping at the cold linoleum, as Castiel rolled them over one more time. He was losing it, in the best way possible, so hungry for Jack, so determined to protect him somehow. Castiel's hands guided Jack's knees over his shoulders, and bent him double. The linoleum grabbed at Jack's skin, pullling, but the mild bite of pain was a new, erotic beat in an already furious rhythm. He felt Castiel reaching deep, growled back at his partner's hunger, and saw stars as Castiel took his erection in hand. They lost track of one another, each one trapped in his own body's sensations as they spun out to the crash.

After a few panting moments, they separated, returning to the bedroll. Jack tugged the blankets to make a wider nest and lay down, apart from Castiel, watching him as their skins cooled. Head pillowed on his arm, Castiel returned his gaze. A questioning note stretched between them in the silence, tentative. Jack's hand worked across the blankets, pushing into Castiel's hair. The bruises coloring his face, yellow when they'd met, were nearly gone now.

Somewhere inside Castiel's pile of clothing, his cell phone vibrated. Castiel sat up, stepped over Jack's hip, and rummaged his pockets for the phone. He greeted 'Sam' (presumably a Winchester - the cute one, in Jack's opinion) on the other end. Phone tucked under his jaw, Castiel mimed washing his hands at Jack, who pointed him lazily towards the small bathroom. The toilet didn't work without a bucket of water poured in, but the sink ran just fine.

He eavesdropped shamelessly. Judging from Castiel's tone of voice, things were just as dire as the angel made them out to be at the nightclub. Sam was headed out to find Dean. He seemed relieved that Castiel had found Jack, and would rendezvous with them at the Kansas-Nebraska border in the morning. He hung up. For a few minutes, the hiss of the sink was the only sound. Jack stretched, enjoying the sensation of well-used muscles. His body felt loose, mind relaxed, free-associating through years of flotsam. "Sam says hi?" he asked with a smile, when Castiel came back to bed.

Warm, wet paper towel swabbed over Jack's inner thighs and stomach. "He did," Castiel replied, as he cleaned away the evidence of sex on Jack's body. He was distant again, of course, the fire in him all wrapped under layers of responsibility. But his hands lingered on Jack's skin. "He'll meet us. He believes he has a lead on Dean's whereabouts."

Jack paused. "Do you want to head out now?" He asked seriously, "If he finds Dean on his own, that could go bad for everybody."

"I trust Sam," Castiel said. He set the paper towel aside.

"He's a Winchester," Jack replied, "with a brother off the rails. They have a track record for irrational behavior."

"I know," Castiel sighed. "Jack, what I'm about to say, I would like taken with the understanding that I am aware of how dire this situation is. These are my friends, I love them, and I refuse to give up on them."

Jack waited. With Castiel, he'd learned it was usually best.

"Right now, I need you."

Jack nodded. "You've got me."

Castiel shook his head. "No. Not for Dean. For me. Right now, I need you." Sea-glass eyes rolled up to Jack's, full of mild guilt and dry humor. "Preferably pinning me to the floor." Registering Jack's surprise, Castiel drove on. "I'm in love with you, which you know." He stroked the curve of Jack's calf. "For now, let me. It doesn't change anything."

Jack looked at him in shock. Not that Castiel loved him - he'd known that for years. But that he'd said it. Avoiding the obvious was the game they played, to stay together in spite of the pain and the absences. Jack didn't, couldn't say it back. Then his heart froze. "You think you're going to die, getting this 'curse' off of Dean."

"I left you only because I thought he needed me more, Jack," Castiel said. Which was a yes. And suddenly there was ice in Jack's veins, and acid, and those goddamned boys might be members of the Saved-the-World-Club but he'd dig a pair of Winchester-sized graves with his bare hands if Dean cost him Castiel. The angel's immortality was fragile, but it was hope.

Castiel's eyes veered away guiltily. Jack thought of the Doctor. Of Sat5, and not wanting to die. So much time passed since then, but that memory - of the fear and the need to be better for the Doctor - still burned in his mind like a torch.

Jack took a deep breath. He tucked his body close to Castiel's and kissed his forehead, then his lips. "I get it, Hot Wings."

"For what it's worth, Jack," Castiel muttered into his neck, "I don't want to die."

"That's good to hear. We'll make sure it doesn't happen." His heart clenched up tight like a knot under a bruise, as Castiel kissed him.

But he let the angel be in love with him - let the angel be in love for both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This was made as a result of [this gifset](http://merindab.tumblr.com/post/119407620169/castiel-picked-up-the-phone-as-said-the-three) made by Merindab on tumblr. I tweaked the details a little, just because I'm damned angry at the ending of Season 10 and Jack coming in to help sounded like a better plan.
> 
> By the way! If you feel like following me on tumblr for more juicy Superwood and Castiel goodness liberally sprinkled with self-loathing and Charlie gifs, you can find me there as [jazzforthecaptain](http://jazzforthecaptain.tumblr.com).


End file.
